Fit for me a space to enjoy, <br />To make love with reckless sleuths, girls I could <br />Never pretend to unknow, <br />Keeping their hair clean in dirty trailer parks: <br />To snap my fingers and awaken the muse from <br />Another man’s hypnosis, <br />To make love with her as I so choose, <br />To drive with her through the licks of amusement parks. <br />To see the sweet animals there, every one with their <br />Hungry eyes pointed forwards, <br />Not even self-conscious, but still hungry for the things <br />I am hungry for, <br />That I see hanging on her every day, though I haven’t <br />Beheld her for so much more than a decade: <br />These things that the city couldn’t even think of picking to <br />Sell, <br />When those angels are already glutting her streets: <br />And I have loved her, watching her grow old even while <br />The carnies are taking down the fair- <br />She seems almost unreal, her eyes as indescribable as the <br />Uncertainties of an eerie weather forecast, <br />Coming over the old high school and Spain alike; <br />And now my liver must be the size of a football <br />While my muse walks her streets that are just as wet as <br />Her turgid hair, <br />Just as sweet as her child that will for so many months <br />Defeat the eccentricities of all of this nostalgic romancing.<br /><br />Robert Rorabeck<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-eccentricities-of-this-nostalgic-romancing/
